I guess if you're that thin and that small you don't need to take up too much space or breathe that much air. You just keep on going.

Time. Time. What is time? Swiss manufacture it, French hoard it, Italians squander it, Americans say it is money. Hindus say it does not exist. Know what I say? I say time is a crook.

Still, when all is said, somewhere one must belong: even the soaring falcon returns to its master's wrist.

Jay Sebring cut my hair a couple of times.

Clocks indeed must have their sacrifice: what is death but an offering to time and eternity?

Yes: but aren't love and marriage notoriously synonymous in the minds of most women? Certainly very few men get the first without promising the second: love, that is--if it's just a matter of spreading her legs, almost any woman will do that for nothing.

I don't mean I'd mind being rich and famous. That's very much on my schedule, and someday I'll try to get around to it; but if it happens, I'd like to have my ego tagging along. I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany's.